I’m no longer the newborn, lord that’s all I know as true, I’ve returned from the ocean, craddlin’ the Denver Boot. nBare feet walk the hills of Frisco, soft boys cut their eyes to me,nThe truth is I let my down my Father, I throw my boots back in the water, they are hollow, they are hollow.nnAt the dear goat farm outside Denver, Father was living in his broken down coupe.nThe helling held him in a bad way, his body revenged as he asked for the truth.n I cradled my Father in my arms, with my nails I scraped the sick away, I put my nail clips in a bottle, a trophy on the dash... but when the sun shine through the bottle it is hollow, it is hollownnI cant wear the Denver bootnnI will bronze my Father’s body, nmount it outside my factories, nthe first will be a see-through glassworks, nthe other will be a true goat farm,nI will blow perfect bottles,nI will squeeze the goats myself,nI will drown the world of it’s helling,nI hope my will don’t come up hollow...nnHollow...n